Burns That Don't Heal
by ImagineYourself64
Summary: One-shot. Destiel. Post S8. The angels have fallen and the boys are back at the Batcave when Cas finally shows up, human and in terrible shape. He locks himself in his bedroom for days on end, but Dean's determined to stop this self-pity party.


It was two days of constant worry before Cas found them. Dean was in the kitchen with Sam, attempting to make him eat something, even just soup, because man did he look like hell in a hand basket. Suddenly, they both jumped at a loud banging on the front door. The two brothers looked at each other before Dean nearly ran to get it, praying that maybe, just maybe it was—

"Cas?"

As soon as he opened the door, the angel—former angel—collapsed onto him, clinging to Dean like he was on his last breath.

"Hello, Dean," Cas muttered, voice more hoarse than usual.

"What the hell happened, man?"

"I… I'm human now. I had to use public transportation to get here and I almost got lost three times." Cas moved away from Dean, leaning against the wall as the hunter shut the door, poking his head out just a little to make sure that the coast was clear first.

"You look like shit," Dean said bluntly, earning a weak glare from Cas.

"Yes, well, I haven't slept or eaten at all for the past two days."

"Alright, let's get you to the kitchen." He took hold of Cas' arm and led him into the other room, where Sam was just struggling to his feet.

"Cas? Are you okay?"

"No, thank you for asking," Cas replied tiredly, all but falling into the chair that Dean pulled out for him. The elder Winchester made himself busy by gathering up a glass of water and a sandwich, because that was about all they had left at the Batcave. He set them in front of Cas and sat down, scrutinizing the extra scruff on Cas' face and his bloodshot eyes that made his irises look even more blue than usual. The former angel scarfed down the sandwich and gulped down half the water in one go. The Winchesters shared a look with raised brows. "Thank you," Cas mumbled, seeming to realize what had just occurred.

"No problem," Dean told him quietly.

"So how did you get here?" Sam asked suddenly.

"I used public transportation. I understand more than ever why you prefer driving your own car to go places."

Dean smirked a little in response, but Sam just asked, "So… did you fall, too?"

Cas hesitated, and the table suddenly became very interesting to him. "Yes." Before either of the other men could say anything more, though, he turned to Dean and asked, "Is there a place where I can sleep?"

"Yeah, sure. We've got a few empty rooms. Come on." Dean stood, wanting to push Cas and find some things out, but knowing he shouldn't. Not yet, at least. Questions could come after he slept. Dean led him down the hallway, past Sam's and his own room and to the one of the farther bedrooms in the hopes that if he and Sam talked, their voices wouldn't travel this far. The room was equipped with a simple wardrobe, bare desk, and a sheet-less bed. "You want some sheets or something?" he asked, turning towards Cas. But Cas was already moving past him and collapsed face first onto the mattress, grumbling something unintelligible. Dean chuckled at him and left, closing the door firmly behind him. He went back out to the kitchen and sat again across from Sam.

His brother gave him a look. "He okay?"

"Conked out."

"Are you gonna ask him when he wakes up?"

"Ask what?"

Sam gave him a weak bitch face. "You know what."

Dean just sighed and replied, "Yeah, maybe. For now I'm just gonna let the guy get some shuteye and grab myself a beer." And he did just that.

. . . . .

Cas still hadn't woken up by the time Dean was heading to bed. He had prepared another sandwich and water, carrying a tray with the food on it towards Cas' room. He was tempted to just leave it outside the door, but he wanted to check on the former angel so he quietly knocked on the door. There was no answer.

He let himself in, the soft light from the hallway spilling in to reveal a lump of dirty trench coat acting as a blanket for the gently snoring Cas. A faint smile touched Dean's lips as he sighed and set the tray on the desk in the corner. Quickly, he went to his own room and pulled the extra blanket off of his bed that he kept around just in case. He padded back to Cas and covered him with the blanket and stood back to lean in the doorway.

With his arms crossed, he watched the slow rise and fall of Cas' body in the dim light. "What happened?" he whispered to himself, knowing Cas couldn't hear, and dreading when he'd have to ask the same question again when Cas actually did wake up. After a few minutes, he silently shut the door and turned to head back to his room. He saw Sam's foot as he slunk into his own room and shut the door just as Dean passed it by.

Dean was almost tempted to demand to know if his brother had just seen him, but he was too tired to, so he just headed towards his own bed and slid onto it, not even bothering to get undressed first. He'd spent countless nights in motel beds, not even worrying about actually getting ready for bed, so it was easy for him to fall asleep even fully clothed. The only thing that kept him up a little longer than usual that night was his worry about Cas. Even that couldn't keep away the solace of sleep for long, though.

. . . . .

It had been three days and Cas had not left his room more than three or four times for bathroom breaks, but he always returned to his room and never said a word to either of the Winchesters. Dean took food to him, having gone for a food run the day after he arrived, but Cas always told him to leave it outside the door, and when he asked to come in, he was always turned down. Sam started making faces and nudges at Dean on day two, but it took him until the end of day three to gather the nerve to just barge in and confront Cas.

What he found was more than a little disconcerting.

Dean didn't knock; he just opened the door and stepped inside the dark room, confused at first because it didn't look like Cas was even in the room. He glanced around and finally noticed the heap that sat against one of the walls, head bowed between knees.

"Cas?"

"Go away."

"No." Cas didn't say anything, so Dean moved forward and sat on the edge of the bed. "You're holing yourself up in here and it's not healthy, man. You're human now. You've gotta learn to live with that now."

"I don't want to."

"You're acting like a fucking child, Cas. What do you think you're gonna do here? Just sit and mope for weeks? Months? Just gonna leave it up to me and Sam to figure out what the hell we're supposed to do?"

Cas didn't speak.

"Cas, your freaking brothers and sisters are all out there, with nowhere to go, no one to help them, and you're sitting in here like you don't have to do a damn thing."

"I can't do a damn thing, Dean!" Cas looked up sharply at him. "That's the problem! I don't have any powers. My grace was—" he broke off, seeming to choke on his own words. "Just leave me be," he whispered hoarsely, glaring at Dean's feet.

"Fine," Dean hissed, standing jerkily and heading out the door. Before he shut it, he spared one last glance at Cas, sighing almost inaudibly. He went back out to the main room, where Sam was sitting on his laptop, researching something that presumably had to do with Heaven or Hell or angels or demons or any other piece of shit that was piled up on their plate at the moment. They had no idea what to do about the fallen angels. There was no way to find them, and they were all over the fucking world, so Dean saw no reason in going on an international trip to find them all. Or any of them. At least not yet.

Sam was still looking like a sick, shaggy dog, and currently had a blanket around his shoulders that he would periodically cough into. Dean had no idea what to do about that either. There were a lot of things that Dean didn't know what do about them. He had a list longer than one of Crowley's contracts. It didn't do him any good, though. And now he didn't even have an angel on his side. Hell, he didn't even have _Cas_ because the guy was so wrapped up in his own pity party to even say two words about the shit they were dealing with.

"How's Cas?" Sam asked, pulling Dean back out of his thoughts as he sat down, beer in hand.

"Well he's sulking in the corner and won't even talk to me so I guess he's doing alright. Even when the guy had wings he was doing the same thing," Dean replied bitterly.

"That's not fair and you know it."

"Yeah, well, you and I have been through some serious shit before and it's never dragged on us as much as he's letting it get to him."

"You know how he is. And it's not like we're not guilty of doing the same thing he is right now to a certain degree."

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but at his brother's mother of all bitch faces, he decided to just take a swig of beer instead and mutter under his breath.

"Just give him some time. I'm sure he'll come around soon."

"Yeah, whatever," Dean grumbled.

. . . . .

Dean had thought that maybe, just maybe, things were getting a little bit better because the next day, Cas actually took the time to shower during one of his periodical bathroom breaks. He still didn't show his face, though.

It went on like that for another week, until Dean was finally so fed up that it was only Sam weakly trying to hold him back that stopped him from once again marching into Cas' room and pulling him out forcefully.

Sam told him he would go and try to talk to the former angel, thinking that Dean's brusque and angry mood probably wouldn't get them anywhere at all. So Dean waited, sipping his beer and sulking like a child. He stood up when Sam came back, but the look on his brother's face and the shake of his head told him all he needed to know.

Before Sam could stop him, he stomped down the hallway and nearly knocked the door off its hinges as he stormed into Cas' room. Cas was sitting at the chair at his desk, turned out as if he was talking to someone that was sitting on the bed. He looked up in surprise as Dean entered.

"What the hell are you playing at man?" Dean asked furiously.

"What do you mean?" Cas' voice was small and frail, nothing like his usual gruff and expressionless demeanor. It made Dean even more frustrated.

"You came to us, and yeah, sure, I'd expect your first few days as a human to be pretty rough, but seriously? It's been like two weeks and you're still cooped up in here and pouting worse than a teenage girl after her first break-up. I mean, come on, Cas!" Dean was nearly shouting, but he really didn't care. Sam showed up in the doorway, but he didn't seem like he was going to intervene, which was a tiny blessing.

"What do you expect me to do? I'm useless," Cas retorted.

Dean moved then, grabbing a fistful of his now _very_ dirty and _very _wrinkled trench coat, and pulled him to his feet before slamming his back into the wall. Cas' hands held on to his arm with a weak grip, eyes staring defiantly into Dean's. It was reminiscent of the time Cas beat Dean up in that alley.

"You are not useless," Dean all but growled. "You may not have your angel mojo, but that's never stopped you before."

"It always came back before. Dean, I can't—"

"Cas I swear to God—"

"I can't just—"

Dean stopped him with a well-placed punch to his cheekbone. His chest was heaving and he pulled his arm back again, but Cas' head had been forced away and he now had his eyes clenched shut and his breath held, expecting another blow. So Dean dropped his hands, and let Cas go, turning abruptly and brushing past Sam into the hallway.

"Dean!" his brother called after him, but Dean was already slamming the door to his bedroom behind him.

He plopped onto his bed with a deep sigh, the memory foam accommodating his ass as he ground his fists into his eyes. His hands fell to his lap and slowly unclenched, leaving him to stare at the lines covering his palms. "Damn it," he swore in a whisper, falling back onto the mattress.

. . . . .

The next morning, Dean went out to the kitchen, trying to decide what he wanted to make for breakfast. He stopped short at the sight of Sam and Cas already sitting together at the table, each with mugs of coffee in front of them. There was a nasty black bruise with green around the edges across Cas' cheek where Dean had hit him. He winced and made his way to the coffee pot to pour some for himself. He was feeling slightly gratified though that Cas was actually out of his room for once, and was wearing something different than his usual attire, a blue button up shirt and jeans that Dean assumed he'd found in one of the storage rooms where he knew he'd seen piles of clothes at some point. He was even shaven back down to his regular hue of stubble and Dean figured his brother must have had a hand in that.

"Morning," Sam said, not taking his eyes from the newspaper in front of him.

"Morning," Dean repeated, sipping his coffee. They were all quiet as Dean cooked up some eggs and put platefuls in front of each of them. Cas thanked him quietly and Dean made sure to sit where he wouldn't see the bruise he had caused.

. . . . .

The days passed slowly. Cas spent most of his time outside of his room, but not with the two brothers. It seemed he liked picking up a random book from the shelves upon shelves of books, sitting in the main room or on one of the couches that the boys had brought in weeks ago to lounge around on something other than the vintage wooden chairs that were everywhere else in the bunker. Dean had even scrounged up an old television from one of the back storage rooms, but it only got a few channels that didn't play much more than the local news and reruns of sitcoms or Dr. Sexy.

Dean felt bad, but his pride hadn't allowed him to apologize that first day, or the day after, or even the day after that. By the time he got up the nerve, the bruise was already fading to a light purple with a sickly yellow around it. He found Cas sitting back on the couch, old leather bound book in hand, and his eyes avidly taking in every word and picture. He stood by the arm, glancing over Cas' shoulder. Sam was curled up on the other couch, laptop sitting precariously on his lap.

"What are you reading?" he asked after a moment.

"One of the men who used to live here was a botanist. He kept a journal of the plants nearby and held in the storage rooms. It's very interesting." Cas didn't look at him as he spoke.

Dean cleared his throat a little. "That's cool. Uh, Cas, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"You're talking to me right now."

"I mean in private."

Cas glanced at him then, but he put down his book on the cushion next to him and followed Dean towards the hallway that led to their rooms. He stood by uncertainly as Dean fought himself for words.

"Look, um, I just wanted to say I'm sorry. For, you know…" he trailed off, and his eyes grazed over the mark on Cas' face.

"You were angry. It's understandable." Dean couldn't tell if Cas was trying to be gentle or if he was hiding some underlying feeling.

"Yeah, but that's no excuse for punching you."

"I've done that to you though, remember?" Cas' head tilted slightly with his lips.

"Two wrongs don't make a right," Dean said, using something he remembered Mary saying to him as a child. Before he was consciously aware of it, his hand had come up and was brushing lightly across Cas' cheekbone and the bruise decorating it.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Cas mumbled quietly, looking down.

"Why?"

"I was so caught up in my guilt that I didn't even think about helping you and Sam make this right. I pushed you away and I shouldn't have."

"I get it, Cas, I do. Yeah it kinda pissed me off, but I know how you were feeling."

"Dean I think you're turning this into some sort of 'chick-flick' moment as you call it." Dean brought his attention to Cas' eyes, which were looking back at him with something akin to amusement. His hand was still on Cas' cheek, but when he tried to take it back, Cas grasped it and held it there. "I'm going to do something, Dean."

"What?"

"Please don't punch me again."

"Uh, okay?"

Cas' eyes never left his until they closed and suddenly their lips were touching. Dean stood rigid for a moment in surprise, but he slowly melted into the kiss, his other hand moving to cup the back of Cas' neck. It was slow and sweet, just soft dry lips moving gently together. And wow… it was nice. _Really_ nice. Dean didn't want it to stop, and he nearly chased after Cas when he pulled away to look at the hunter.

"Was that… okay?" Cas asked quietly, looking worried.

Trying to reassure him, Dean replied quickly, "Yeah!" He smiled. "Yeah, that was more than okay."

The corners of Cas' lips curled and Dean was struck by how much he liked that smile, though he rarely saw it. They stood there for a moment, lost in each other's eyes like they were so often, but in a different way this time. This time, Dean understood what he saw. Trust, compassion, a deep sadness, but also love. And he knew that he was staring right back with those same things in his own eyes.

They were torn from their moment by someone clearing their throat at the mouth of the hallway. They both looked to see Sam, and Dean finally took his hands back from Cas. "Am I interrupting something?" the younger Winchester asked, a smirk on his lips.

Dean knew he should have been defensive. He should have denied anything that had just happened in the past five minutes. But instead, he just said in an exasperated tone, "Way to be a cockblock, Sammy." Sam held up his hands in defeat and he figured that his brother must have been expecting something like that to happen. Though that thought was a little weird to Dean. "What do you want, anyway?"

"Just wanted to say I found something you guys might find interesting." With that, Sam backed away and went towards the main room.

Dean made a face and turned back to Cas, who was still smiling. "I suppose we should see what your brother has found."

"Yeah I guess," Dean said moodily.

"We'll pick up on this later," Cas told him, leaning forward to give him another quick kiss before turning and following the way Sam had gone.

Dean stared after him for a few seconds before shaking his head slightly with a chuckle. "What am I getting myself into," he muttered to himself, starting back down the hallway.


End file.
